Khadijah Ibrahim

Featured Poem:

When My Time Comes

Featured Poem:

When My Time Comes

‘The lord is my shepherd I shall not want,
He lays me down to sleep in green pastures’
Mi dear child,
we are lvin’ in our last days
so when mi time come,
I waant to be buried in mi red suit,
the one I just buy.
I buy a new one every five years
just for de occasion,
I like to keep with the fashion
and dis suit favour de roses in my garden –
you know how I love dem so.
So look here, child,
when me time comes I waant you
to remember
dis is de suit I waant to be buried in,
de red one right here,
trailing from neck to hem
wid beads and silk embroidery
just like royalty,
a colour of importance.
I saw de queen wearing one just like it pon TV.
So remember wat mi show you;
see how it tailor stitched in and out
with good threads,
like mi granny use to do.
She bury in red too.
And when de Lord calls
I want to be wearing a red suit,
de one I handpick especially –
I walk de whole day till carn bun mi toes.
I like to look good at all times,
no-one is going to say
I never dress away till de end of my days.
Mi buy mi suit from Marks and Spencer,
all my underwear too,
put dem in de trunk
with all mi fine nightwear and tings,
fold in camphor balls.
Mi ole woman 75 years just gone,
but mi a no fool,
mi make all mi plans;
out down insurance
fe horse-drawn carriage,
gospel singers, saxophone player,
and a red rose for each and every one.
Mi no waant bury a England
mi waant mi ashes spread cross de River
Thames, make de waves teck
mi back to which part mi did come from.
And when all and sundries come to the house,
start dig, stake claim to what dem waant,
to wat dem no waant,
when tears flare and tongues clash difference,
I want my daughter to remember
dis is the red suit I want to be buried in,
the red one right here.

‘The lord is my shepherd I shall not want,
He lays me down to sleep in green pastures’
Mi dear child,
we are lvin’ in our last days
so when mi time come,
I waant to be buried in mi red suit,
the one I just buy.
I buy a new one every five years
just for de occasion,
I like to keep with the fashion
and dis suit favour de roses in my garden –
you know how I love dem so.
So look here, child,
when me time comes I waant you
to remember
dis is de suit I waant to be buried in,
de red one right here,
trailing from neck to hem
wid beads and silk embroidery
just like royalty,
a colour of importance.
I saw de queen wearing one just like it pon TV.
So remember wat mi show you;
see how it tailor stitched in and out
with good threads,
like mi granny use to do.
She bury in red too.
And when de Lord calls
I want to be wearing a red suit,
de one I handpick especially –
I walk de whole day till carn bun mi toes.
I like to look good at all times,
no-one is going to say
I never dress away till de end of my days.
Mi buy mi suit from Marks and Spencer,
all my underwear too,
put dem in de trunk
with all mi fine nightwear and tings,
fold in camphor balls.
Mi ole woman 75 years just gone,
but mi a no fool,
mi make all mi plans;
out down insurance
fe horse-drawn carriage,
gospel singers, saxophone player,
and a red rose for each and every one.
Mi no waant bury a England
mi waant mi ashes spread cross de River
Thames, make de waves teck
mi back to which part mi did come from.
And when all and sundries come to the house,
start dig, stake claim to what dem waant,
to wat dem no waant,
when tears flare and tongues clash difference,
I want my daughter to remember
dis is the red suit I want to be buried in,
the red one right here.

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Biography

Khadijah Ibrahiim is of Jamaican parentage, born in the city of Leeds, England. Educated at the University of Leeds; she has a MA in Theatre Studies. She is the Artistic Director of Leeds Young Authors and the Producer of Leeds Youth poetry Slam festival. Peepal Tree press published her poetry collection Rootz Runnin in 2008 that same year she toured the USA with the Fwords Creative Freedom writers. As a delegate for the Art Council England (Yorkshire) she attended Calabash International Literature Festival in Jamaica. She became one of the first international writers to attend the El Gouna Writers Residency in Egypt, 2010.

She was a member the advisory group that organized some of the events, which marked the visit of Dr Nelson Mandela to the City of Leeds. Hailed as one of Yorkshire’s ‘most prolific’ poets by BBC Radio, she continues to make various stage appearances across Britain, the USA, the Caribbean and Africa. Peepal Tree Press will publish her latest collection of poems later this year

Khadijah Ibrahim

Biography

Khadijah Ibrahiim is of Jamaican parentage, born in the city of Leeds, England. Educated at the University of Leeds; she has a MA in Theatre Studies. She is the Artistic Director of Leeds Young Authors and the Producer of Leeds Youth poetry Slam festival. Peepal Tree press published her poetry collection Rootz Runnin in 2008 that same year she toured the USA with the Fwords Creative Freedom writers. As a delegate for the Art Council England (Yorkshire) she attended Calabash International Literature Festival in Jamaica. She became one of the first international writers to attend the El Gouna Writers Residency in Egypt, 2010.

She was a member the advisory group that organized some of the events, which marked the visit of Dr Nelson Mandela to the City of Leeds. Hailed as one of Yorkshire’s ‘most prolific’ poets by BBC Radio, she continues to make various stage appearances across Britain, the USA, the Caribbean and Africa. Peepal Tree Press will publish her latest collection of poems later this year

Featured Poem:

When My Time Comes

Featured Poem:

When My Time Comes

‘The lord is my shepherd I shall not want,
He lays me down to sleep in green pastures’
Mi dear child,
we are lvin’ in our last days
so when mi time come,
I waant to be buried in mi red suit,
the one I just buy.
I buy a new one every five years
just for de occasion,
I like to keep with the fashion
and dis suit favour de roses in my garden –
you know how I love dem so.
So look here, child,
when me time comes I waant you
to remember
dis is de suit I waant to be buried in,
de red one right here,
trailing from neck to hem
wid beads and silk embroidery
just like royalty,
a colour of importance.
I saw de queen wearing one just like it pon TV.
So remember wat mi show you;
see how it tailor stitched in and out
with good threads,
like mi granny use to do.
She bury in red too.
And when de Lord calls
I want to be wearing a red suit,
de one I handpick especially –
I walk de whole day till carn bun mi toes.
I like to look good at all times,
no-one is going to say
I never dress away till de end of my days.
Mi buy mi suit from Marks and Spencer,
all my underwear too,
put dem in de trunk
with all mi fine nightwear and tings,
fold in camphor balls.
Mi ole woman 75 years just gone,
but mi a no fool,
mi make all mi plans;
out down insurance
fe horse-drawn carriage,
gospel singers, saxophone player,
and a red rose for each and every one.
Mi no waant bury a England
mi waant mi ashes spread cross de River
Thames, make de waves teck
mi back to which part mi did come from.
And when all and sundries come to the house,
start dig, stake claim to what dem waant,
to wat dem no waant,
when tears flare and tongues clash difference,
I want my daughter to remember
dis is the red suit I want to be buried in,
the red one right here.

‘The lord is my shepherd I shall not want,
He lays me down to sleep in green pastures’
Mi dear child,
we are lvin’ in our last days
so when mi time come,
I waant to be buried in mi red suit,
the one I just buy.
I buy a new one every five years
just for de occasion,
I like to keep with the fashion
and dis suit favour de roses in my garden –
you know how I love dem so.
So look here, child,
when me time comes I waant you
to remember
dis is de suit I waant to be buried in,
de red one right here,
trailing from neck to hem
wid beads and silk embroidery
just like royalty,
a colour of importance.
I saw de queen wearing one just like it pon TV.
So remember wat mi show you;
see how it tailor stitched in and out
with good threads,
like mi granny use to do.
She bury in red too.
And when de Lord calls
I want to be wearing a red suit,
de one I handpick especially –
I walk de whole day till carn bun mi toes.
I like to look good at all times,
no-one is going to say
I never dress away till de end of my days.
Mi buy mi suit from Marks and Spencer,
all my underwear too,
put dem in de trunk
with all mi fine nightwear and tings,
fold in camphor balls.
Mi ole woman 75 years just gone,
but mi a no fool,
mi make all mi plans;
out down insurance
fe horse-drawn carriage,
gospel singers, saxophone player,
and a red rose for each and every one.
Mi no waant bury a England
mi waant mi ashes spread cross de River
Thames, make de waves teck
mi back to which part mi did come from.
And when all and sundries come to the house,
start dig, stake claim to what dem waant,
to wat dem no waant,
when tears flare and tongues clash difference,
I want my daughter to remember
dis is the red suit I want to be buried in,
the red one right here.